


Unholy

by aLovelyrose



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe: Priest/Congregant, Anal Sex, Blasphemy, Derogatory Language, Dom Michael Langdon, F/M, Priest Kink, Public Masturbation, priest Michael Langdon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 13:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17940722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aLovelyrose/pseuds/aLovelyrose
Summary: Mallory is a modest, faithful congregant of the cathedral drawn to the young, attractive priest Father Michael Langdon, and soon finds herself in a scandalous situation.





	Unholy

Mallory was a faithful churchgoer. From her first breaths to now, her parents had instilled in her a sense of dutiful religion. The first thing she’d done after moving away from home was find a local church. She found a perfect one in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Purity; the congregation was warm and welcoming, she felt at home instantly. The church leaders were devoted men of God, upright and holy. She believed they were the perfect shepherds to her soul.

All except for one. A tall, young priest by the name of Father Michael Langdon.

Her trepidation had no basis in outward appearance. He was by all accounts a calm, disciplined man who took great care for the disenfranchised and delivered the most impassioned sermons she’d ever sat under. He was charismatic, helpful, walking in a regal dignity one expects of a representative of Christ. Perhaps it was his looks that so unnerved her. Often when looking upon him at the altar, she would compare him to the stone and stained glass angels encompassing the sanctuary. His golden hair would glow from the streaming sunlight, casting a halo around his head. His face was pure, sculpted marble, not one feature ill placed or imperfect. His eyes were blue as the heavens, and could hold you fast in your place like a command from God himself. His lips…  
She shook her thoughts away. Father Langdon had plagued her mind for three months. She would scold herself, commanding her body to free itself from carnal desires; but the image of his mouth, his body, his manhood hidden under black trousers she wanted to see free and throbbing-  
Oh God!  
This was her reason for going to confession today. She’d been neglecting it, but now she knew she couldn’t give allowance to her sins any longer.  
The Cathedral was as grand and opulent as any, white columns, golden holy imagery welcoming the searching soul. There were a smattering of people, elderly men and women praying, some deacons milling about. The left door confession booth opened and a middle aged man stepped out, tipping his hat as he passed her. She entered the booth, making the sign of the cross upon sitting down, and took a deep breath, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since my last confession.”  
Her blood chilled when a familiar dulcet voice came from the other side.  
“I would have pegged you for more of a faithful confessor than that, Mallory,” the voice chuckled.  
Her legs tensed as she instinctively fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, “Father Langdon...”  
The lattice of the window separating them still allowed the general shape of his blond locks to peek through, “I’m sorry, I know that’s not an appropriate thing for a priest to say at confession. I just hate how formal this has to be. I consider us friends, Mallory,” his voice inexplicably dropped to just above a whisper, “Don’t you?”  
She swallowed, her chest thumping, “Yes, but would a friendship at all impede this sacrament?”  
His silence made her clarify, “I mean, for there to be bias on both sides.”  
He hummed, a vibration that made her breath catch, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another. There is no one better to confess to than a friend.”  
The booth was suddenly cramped, musty. Her throat dry like a desert.  
“The Lord has also given me a unique talent,” he continued, “an ability to discern the darkness of human souls. Those hidden sins, forbidden lusts that wake them late at night,” his tone was penetrative, “cause them to writhe upon their bed. I can unravel their mysteries and bring them to the light.”  
She closed her legs even tighter, desperately ignoring the pulse between them, “I don’t have any dark places.”  
“None?” He played with every word like a cat with its prey, “If we say we have not sin, we are a liar and the truth is not in us.”  
She cleared her throat, the heat beneath her skirt begging for attention, “I meant, of course I have a sinful nature, but I simply don’t possess as deep a dark place as you speak of,” she dug her nails into her thigh, “I’ve never been one to contemplate on sinful things.”  
A tense silence hung between them.  
“I can sense that in you, Mallory,” he finally said, “A purity of heart. Yet surely you didn’t come to confession to brag about your own holiness.”  
Her voice trembled, barely leaving her mouth, “Of course not.”  
She could practically feel the smile dripping off his tone, “What is thy sin?”  
She closed her eyes, imagining it were any other priest, pushing through with gritted teeth, “I have been assaulted by the Devil in more...potent ways than ever.”  
“Are these the Devil’s sins, then?” He interrupted.  
She paused, caught off guard, “No, Father, they are mine.”  
“Then claim them, Mallory,” his voice was a whisper, cajoling, tender, “Tell me that you have committed sins...and have taken great pleasure in them.”  
Her mind felt hazy, “I have allowed my mind to be filled with perverted fantasies against a fellow Christian.”  
“How often, my child, have you dwelt on these fantasies?”  
If she isn’t know any better, she’d say his tone was...desperate.  
“Months. I have welcomed sin into my heart and mind, and have let my imagination run wild.”  
“Where does it run to, Mallory?”  
“Lusts of the flesh,” she dodged coyly, “unbecoming to a young woman of faith.”  
“Speak them,” he commanded.  
She nearly jumped at the sudden change, “Father Langdon?”  
“Tell me of your lusts,” he demanded again.  
Her voice was so tiny, her heart leaped into her throat, “I don’t think-“  
“Sin can only be absolved once it is fully confessed, Mallory,” she heard him moving, his form leaning closer to the window, “Tell me of your desires. This fellow Christian, as you call them, what do you think of them doing when your imagination takes hold? Are their lips upon yours? Delighting in the sweetness of your mouth with a chaste kiss? Or are they hungry? Ravenous as their tongue dances over yours? Do they bite your lips, drawing beads of blood before licking them clean?”  
Her core throbbed at his words. Her mouth hung agape, shallow breaths escaping.  
“Are you naked?” Even the way he spoke the word was sinful, “Have your clothes been discarded on the floor in a heap, leaving your sensitive, aching pussy exposed to their lustful eyes?”  
Every inch of her flesh was hot and riddled with goosebumps. Not simply from what he said, but how it was as if he’d plucked her own thoughts from her mind and were reading them aloud.  
“Are you against the wall?” He stifled a little moan, “On your knees? Spread out on silk sheets, a delicious morsel all for the taking, for devouring? Tell me, Mallory,” it was like his voice was right next to her ear, “tell me everything that’s in that slutty imagination of yours. Confess every sinful perversion you’ve dreamt about committing,” he chuckled darkly, “the ones you long to have committed against you.”  
Her fingers slipped under her panties as if of their own will. She massaged her pulsing clit, her folds already wet with desire.  
He continued in agonizing detail, his cadence falling into a steady rhythm to which she pumped two fingers in and out of herself, biting her lip to detain her ardent whimpers.  
“Do you feel their teeth on your soft skin, greedy fingers toying with your hard nipples? Where is their tongue? Is it licking your wetness, spreading it over your lips, or teasing your needy slit? Are their lips gently wrapping around your clit and sucking? Can you hear,” he paused on each word, tasting them, “the slick...wet...sounds? The growling need as they gorge themselves on your perfect, sweet, delectable cunt?”  
Hot shame flooded her, but she kept going...faster, harder. What would those poor congregants think if they knew she was making such a filthy scene for the priest?  
And yet that made her desire grow.  
“Can you feel them slide up your body, their hard cock pressing against your soaked thighs? Can you taste yourself on their lips? Do you taste good, Mallory?”  
An obscene noise almost freed itself from her throat, but she placed her other hand over her mouth.  
“Do you wrap your legs around their waist like an eager little slut? Are you begging, whining to have them slam their thick, throbbing cock into your pussy over and over again until you cum all over it, screaming?”  
His voice was thick with need, “Do you feel yourself stretching around them, taking in every inch? Do you like being filled?” He paused, “Answer me, little lamb.”  
Barely trusting her own voice, she whispered, “Yes, Father Langdon.”  
She could hear the satisfied grin behind his words, “Do you want to be fucked aggressively? Do you want me to use you as my plaything, my own personal whore to pound my cock into? Do you want to please me?”  
She felt herself climbing towards the edge, “Yes.  
“Yes, what?”  
She sounded so pathetic, “Father Langdon,”  
He changed pace, as if sensing her closeness; gently guiding her towards her orgasm, “How about I take you slowly? Whisper blasphemies in your ear while I slip in and out of your yearning pussy? Tell you how you feel like Heaven around my dick. Worship you like an idol, sweet hymns escaping my throat in my moans because you feel so fucking good. My ultimate praise spilling out inside you, anointing you as mine.”  
The word was like a signal, releasing her tension as she rode the high. As she came down, her breathing slowed, and her mind gained back enough sense to panic over whether or not anyone outside had heard.  
“Does that sound like your fantasies, Mallory?”  
He sounded so casual now, returned to his calm, disciplined self.  
“Yes, Father Langdon,” she muttered breathlessly.  
“Are they sated?”  
She removed her fingers from her panties, quickly searching her bag for a tissue to wipe them on, her face painted red, “For the moment, yet they seem stronger than ever.”  
He laughed, “Such is the nature of man. Perhaps we could discuss your sins in further detail at a later time.”  
She froze at the implication, and scorned how it made a new wave of excitement crash over her.  
“Find a way to...absolve them in a more tangible way.”  
She sniffled, “Yes, Father Langdon.”  
There was a knowing, excited lilt to his voice, “Peace be with you, Mallory.”  
“And with you also,” she returned quickly, stepping outside the booth and trying to hurry outside in the most inconspicuous way possible. Perhaps it was her own anxiety, but she was sure a few squinting glares were thrown her way.  
___________  
Mallory had never felt more out of place than at Mass the following Sunday from her sinful encounter at confession. Every utterance of holy Scripture burned on her tongue, the wine of communion was souring in her stomach. Even her outfit, a draped white blouse and black skirt with heels felt more scandalous today despite wearing it hundreds of times before. She sat at the end of her usual pew, legs pressed together tightly and hands folded demurely in front of her. Her eyes darted everywhere, terrified that somehow the other congregants could read her mind; because all she could think about was Father Langdon’s dulcet voice as he uttered deliciously sinful words right inside the four walls of the holy of holies. Without a single touch, he’d ravaged her so completely. The hymns she sang erupted from constricted breath as she imagined him slipping his elegant fingers between her legs and bringing her to ungodly bliss. She felt hot to the touch beneath the glass stares of saints and angels.  
She was thankful another priest delivered the sermon today; grateful how utterly boring he was, how completely dispassionate. One of Langdon’s beautiful orations would have been a detriment to her ability to stay calm. When the service ended, she gathered her purse and rushed towards the exit, desperate to feel the chilly winter breeze.  
“Mallory!”  
The voice stopped her in her tracks.  
“Always a pleasure to see you,” Langdon commented sincerely, walking up to her with his hand outstretched for a friendly greeting.  
She didn’t accept it, and words spilled out of her mouth hastily, “Father Langdon, I want to apologize for what happened at my confession. I should not have let myself give into temptation so eagerly, and in my sin I led you astray. I pray you can forgive me.”  
He cocked his head, offering her a playful smile and sympathetic eyes, “Oh, Mallory, there’s nothing to forgive.”  
Her lips parted in surprise, “But…”  
He motioned for her to walk with him a bit farther away from the exiting crowd, which she did reluctantly.  
“Human nature is such a fickle beast. If you tell it not to do something, it desires it all the more. The fruit never looked so appetizing until it was forbidden,” he looked at her, “Have you ever read Oscar Wilde, Mallory?”  
She shook her head.  
“Brilliant writer,” they stopped, their eyes meeting, “Perhaps my most favorite quote from him is, “The only way to get rid of temptation, is to yield to it.” I must confess that quote alone influences more of my theology than some parts of Scripture,” he admitted sheepishly before giving a wink, “But that can be our little secret.”  
Heat bloomed in her chest, “I’m afraid I don’t really understand.”  
He spoke with his hand, the member gliding gracefully through the air, “Consider what happened at your confession as an extreme form of penance. Getting the sin out of your system, freeing the mind,” he smiled, “As long as it is taboo, it dominates your mind, but when you are allowed expression, you dominate it.”  
As irregular as it was, Mallory took some comfort in the holy man’s explanation. Though, the ugly head of jealousy peeked through as she thought of anyone else being “helped” by him.  
“Has your extreme form of penance worked before?”  
His eyes lazily rolled over her figure, smile turning impish, “Are you asking whether or not I’ve made other congregates cum like you?”  
Hearing him say it aloud, even so intimately quiet, caused familiar panic to jolt through her; along with a sharp pang of desire.  
“No,” he chuckled, “My methods would have me removed from the Church.”  
Confused, she tucked her hair behind her ear, “Then why...?”  
“Why you?” He finished for her, gazing at her with an admiring look, “You’re different, Mallory. There’s an aura about you, I don’t see any pretense in your faith. You’re...genuine,” he stepped closer, sending a trail of goosebumps down her spine, “Hypocrisy is such a rampant plague among the faithful. In you I see the true image of God. Divinity given human hands.”  
She blushed further, if it were possible, “I’ve never seen myself as anything special like that.”  
His took her hand between his, The comforting warmth intoxicating.  
“Then you do your Creator a great disservice, for he made you with a crown upon your head.”  
He looked away for the first time, as if embarrassed, “And, well, I was also purging my own sins in that confessional.”  
Her heart jumped.  
“I didn’t think you thought of me in that way.”  
He laughed, low and gentle, “I’ve thought of you in every way, Mallory.”  
She had a flashing thought of him with her pinned against the pew, but threw it away.  
“And if you are willing,” he continued, letting go of her hand, leaving a trace of abandonment, "I’d like to make good on my offer for us to discuss this in more detail.”  
Her mind demanded she say no. What kind of woman was she to be alone with the priest she lusted over?  
“How so?”  
He held his hands behind him, “Are you free on Friday night by any chance?”  
She knew it was the decent thing to say no, “Yes, I am.”  
“How about dinner at around 6-6:30? I promise I’m just as good a cook as I am a preacher.”  
She nodded, “That sounds great.”  
He looked so pleased, “Wonderful, let me tell you my address.”  
__________________  
She stared at herself in the mirror of her bathroom for an hour; her makeup, her dress, her hair, even practicing how she would say hello.  
“Good evening, Father,” she smiled at her reflection before shaking her head. Too formal.  
She gave a toothy grin, nearly bouncing on her heels, “Hi! Thanks for inviting me.” She groaned, cringing. Too peppy.  
She took in a deep breath and said pleasantly, “Hi, Father Langdon. Thank you for inviting me.”  
She sighed, frustrated with herself, and shut off the light, heading into her room. She grabbed her purse and keys, taking one last glance in the mirror before leaving.  
She didn’t know what to expect his house to look like, but it didn’t come as a surprise as she pulled into the driveway.  
It was a modern Victorian home, painted black. A small garage sat adjacent to a set of stairs leading to the door underneath an archway. Three windows gazed over the garage in a semicircle overlook, the blinds closed. It wasn’t gaudy in any way, but it was most certainly gothic set against the starry sky.  
She locked her car and cautiously mounted the steps, ringing the silver button doorbell; a pleasant chime emanating from inside.  
After a few moments, the door opened; Father Langdon’s gracious tone welcoming her.  
“Hello, Mallory.”  
He was everything she expected from the feet up, black boots and pants; but it shifted once her eyes drawn up. He wore a black shirt, sleeves reaching to his wrists, a normal solid collar around his neck, but his shoulders and collar bones were exposed through mesh, stopping just above his chest. His smile was genuine, under eyes framed in black eyeshadow. He was a vision of something so feminine, yet radiating with power. She was hit with a bout of shock. A strange feeling formed in her chest, confusion, desire, fear all swirling together.  
She mumbled a hello under her breath.  
“I’m so glad to see you.”  
She managed a squeaky, “You too.”  
He stepped back, extending his arm, “Please come in.”  
She noted the large square ring on his middle finger as she stepped inside the little parlor. Cylindrical lights hung from the ceiling bathing the cream walls in a gentle hue; an ornate black staircase leading to the second floor.  
“You look beautiful,” he commented looking over her simple dress.  
She breathed for what felt like the first time since seeing him, “Thank you. You look...different.”  
He chuckled, “I like playing with expectations,” he quirked an eyebrow, “Do you like it?”  
She gulped, “I do, it looks…” she held herself back from saying ‘sexy’, “Good.”  
He smirked, as if reading her thoughts, and invited her to the dining room.  
Dinner went by normally. They talked about life. How Mallory was fairing in her senior year of college, how her family was doing back in Georgia, etc. He never went into too much detail about himself, even when she would ask. He only told her that he had moved to the city after his ailing grandmother died and that he’d been a minister for five years. Nothing else, he was strangely guarded for how sociable she knew him to be at the Cathedral.  
Afterward, they’d moved to a small sitting room, where he poured two glasses of wine. He handed her the glass and settled into the leather chair, taking a sip, “So, tell me, if we may get down to business, pardon the expression,” he laughed, “what attracts you to me?”  
She stopped her lips parted over the rim of her glass.  
He grinned sympathetically, “Come on, there really is no point in being coy about it. And that is why we’re here,” he sipped before setting it on a small table next to him, “To exorcise your demons, so to speak.”  
She swallowed a too big gulp of the wine before nervously fingering the stem, “You’re...very attractive, charismatic, charming,” she glanced up at him, “you command a room.”  
He hummed, intertwining his fingers, “Have you often had attractions to authority figures in your life?”  
She thought of her youth minister back in 9th grade. He was a cute, recent seminary graduate; she became his favorite student to gain his attention. Guys her age just didn’t appeal to her all that much.  
“Some.”  
“Do you like being dominated?”  
He asked it so brazenly, it hit her like a slap to the face. She shrugged, stuttering, “I...I guess I have a proclivity to...follow the rules.”  
His voice became a commanding growl, his controlled expression never shifting, “That’s not what I asked.”  
Heavy heat settled between her legs at his tone; she yipped a response, like following an order, “I like the idea of it.”  
His hand rested under his chin, his eyes burning with curiosity, “Why? Is it being helpless?”  
She shook her head, her voice maintaining a tinny as she confessed, “Not helpless. Just the idea of being corrupted,” she looked him in the eyes, “Of an attractive older man taking an innocent and dirtying her up. Letting go of certain standards that keep me so rigid.”  
A low, pleased note rumbled behind his smirk, “Are you a virgin, Mallory?”  
She cleared her throat, “Technically I suppose, I’ve never been...penetrated.” Her face was red, “I let one guy finger me, but it was kinda uncomfortable.”  
He tilted his head, waiting for her to explain.  
“Like, he was kinda rough and he sorta blamed me for not cumming.”  
That made his lip curl into a snarl, “What a stupid, useless boy.”  
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, breathing becoming shallow. He remained a vision of calm confidence.  
He gripped both arms of his chair, leaning closer, something dark coloring his eyes, “What makes you wet?”  
A spear of cold shock and yearning pierced her core, “I’m sorry?”  
His smile grew, slightly shaking his head, as if at a young child’s antics. He leaned back, looking like a king on his throne, “What makes,” his tone was languid, “your gorgeous little pussy hungry for a big cock to pin you down and own you?”  
She released an audible gasp, her body trembling. She swallowed hard, “What you just said.”  
He nodded, “Dirty words. What else?”  
She felt entranced, his icy eyes stripping away her inhibitions, “Things that are forbidden, things that would make me seem like a whore.”  
“Hmmm…” He bit his lower lip, moving his hand; his fingers practically danced from his chest to just above his belt, “It’s quite forbidden for anyone, let alone a priest, to touch themselves while another looks on.”  
She watched his hand glide to his crotch, palming the growing bulge. She licked her lips at his tiny groans of pleasure as he played; his knuckles were white, gripping the leather, “Do you like that?”  
She nodded, a bit too eagerly. He giggled, a breathy evil sound, “What’s the dirtiest thing you can think to do right now?”  
Her voice was thick, “Crawl on my hands and knees and grind on your cock.”  
He let out another chuckle as he bit his lip again, his hand palming the black fabric of his pants faster, needing more friction, “You naughty little sinner, wanting to seduce a man of the cloth like that,” he sneered, “Shame on you.”  
She set her glass on a counter, dropping to her knees and crawled to him slowly, her eyes wide and reverent. He held out his hand to beckon her, and she sat on his lap; releasing a choked moan as his bulge bucked against her wet slit through her panties. Her hips rocked slowly, earning her a needy groan from him; his hands grabbing her ass, “Oh, temptress, what man beset by you could resist?”  
He pulled her closer, making her move a little faster. His lips left wet kisses on her neck. She smelled like citrus, her skin soft and flushed under the attention of his mouth.  
“The things I want to do to you,” he growled.  
His tongue licked a stripe from the curve of her neck to her ear, softly biting it, “Will you let me purge you, Mallory? Will you let me cleanse you of all these filthy lusts?”  
Her hands clutched his shirt, her head thrown back; she intended to grind out every frustrating urge he made her feel. Without warning, his hand was at her throat; gripping just tight enough to cause her eyes to be taken over by fear, then lust.  
“You’re such a pretty little lamb,” he muttered, his other hand sliding up Her body to cup her breast, “straying from the flock of the faithful to play with the wolves,” he chuckled, rubbing his thumb over the now hardened nipple through the dress fabric, “Such a bad little saint. But you crave the wolf, don’t you?”  
His lips hovered just above hers, “You want to feel that wild, uncontrollable passion, you want to be left gasping, aching, the wolf’s fang marks left in your skin. So when your good shepherd finds you, you’ve been dirtied, defiled,” he tightened his grasp, “claimed.”  
She moved her hand to brush over his clothed cock. He wrenched her closer, their warm breath passing between them, “And even when you’re back safe and sound in your little pen, you’ll be thinking about the wolf and how fucking good he felt. Because no one has ever touched you like he did.”  
She looked like a frightened deer, doe eyes filled with desire.  
“Get on the floor.”  
She slipped off of him, her bare knees hitting the carpet.  
“Take out my cock,” he commanded.  
She undid his belt and pulled down his pants, freeing him. Hunger overtook her as she wrapped her lips around the head, sucking gently.  
He gasped, “Eager little slut.”  
She massaged his balls, taking more of him into her mouth. He groaned, fingers threading through her hair. She gripped his thighs, gagging as he hit the back of her throat. He moaned and began to roll his hips, fucking his cock in and out of her mouth. Drool poured down his shaft as she moaned gargled noises around his thickness. Tears pricked at her eyes as she pulled back, his dick making a wet pop as it exited her mouth; a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to his head, now red and leaking.  
He caressed her cheek, as she dragged her tongue over each ridge, lapping up his precum.  
“Come here,” his raspy voice told her.  
She propped herself on his knees, her eyes falling to his full, beautiful lips. He tipped her chin with his forefinger, “Oh, would you like a kiss?”  
She responded quietly, “Please?”  
He cupped the back of her head, bringing their foreheads together, their lips centimeters apart, “How adorable, my little lamb,” he tugged a fistful of her hair, “Maybe once you’ve earned it.”  
His gaze focused on her glossy mouth, “Although,” he leaned in to graze her bottom lip with his tongue, “I’d love to taste your adoration for my big cock in your pretty mouth.”  
He pulled back with a tiny smirk, “But patience is a virtue.”  
He delivered a swift, hard slap to her ass, her tiny yelp making his cock jerk.  
“Follow me.”  
____________________  
Father Langdon's bedroom was as sleek and dark as the rest of his décor; but the two main eye attractions were the three overlook windows Mallory had noticed outside, and the large bed draped in red silk sheets and a black leather bed frame; two decorative pikes on either side of the headboard.  
She couldn’t help but eye the bed with curiosity, finding that the priest hid darker undertones of his personality in his most intimate places.  
“Take off your dress,” he ordered.  
She nearly jumped, turning around to see him taking three red cords from a little black box.  
He paused, meeting her eyes when she hesitated. He smiled gently, raising an eyebrow, “Please?”  
She stripped slowly, letting the dress pool around her feet. He looked her over.  
“Oh, Mallory,” he responded breathlessly, twirling the red ties between his graceful fingers, “Heaven couldn’t create a more perfect form.”  
She blushed, her thighs were slick with arousal as he beckoned her forward; laying the ties neatly over the box. His fingers lazily dragged down her bare stomach when she stood before him before slipping just inside her panties, “How about I relieve some of your tension while you strip off my clothes.”  
She bit her lip, starting to unbutton his shirt; her blood boiling in anticipation. He moaned as his finger slipped inside her heat, his fingertip lazily rubbing her clit in slow, wide circles. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her; desperate noises breathily rising from her throat. Her hips moved with his rhythm, slipping his shirt off to hang from his forearms. Her hands softly drifted over his toned chest and broad shoulders, nails digging in when his fingers explored her dripping core more enthusiastically. He growled impatiently, snatching his fingers away to remove his shirt completely. He slid down, wrapping his arms under her thighs; forcing her to hold onto him tightly as he carried her to the windows, pinning her against the middle pane.  
“I can see practically the whole neighborhood from this view, Mallory,” he latched onto her neck, sucking and licking up to her ear, “Let’s give any nosy neighbors a show.”  
His fingers slipped her panties off, throwing them aside. The cold glass stung her bare skin, the scandalous nature of her position pouring hot, depraved passion into her veins. His thumb pressed into her clit with fast, flicking strokes while he moved two fingers in and out of her with unrelenting speed.  
“I’ve dreamt about this sexy, virgin pussy since I met you,” he groaned in her ear, “I’ve stroked this thick, hungry cock for you every. single. night,” he repositioned to get a better grip on her ass, “Sometimes I’d stare out from the pulpit and fantasize about sinking my throbbing dick into you right there at the altar,” he sighed out a dark chuckle, “Fucking you before God and everyone. Making vile worship pour from your lips and gush around me.” He snarled, curling his fingers inside her, “God, you make me so fucking hard.”  
She clung desperately, unable to keep up with him; his bulge shoved tightly back into his pants reaching to grind just outside her entrance.  
“You like knowing that, don’t you?” He angled his head to lift up her bra with his teeth, his tongue seeking to violate her hardened nipples, “You like knowing that while I’m up there preaching about purity and chastity,” he surrounded her nipple with his lips and sucked, making a filthy wet sound as he released it, “That all I can imagine is pounding your hot, horny little hole until I cum inside you.”  
She choked out a pathetic whine, “Michael, just fuck me already!”  
It was jarring how quickly he could stop. His eyes glared into hers, soaked fingers pulling out to roughly grasp her chin, “What did you call me?”  
Terror spread in her chest, “I-I-“  
“No,” he pressed down on her bottom lip with his thumb, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” his expression was aflame, “I asked what you just called me.”  
She trembled.  
“Say it.”  
“Michael,” she answered weakly.  
“Dear little lamb,” he shook his head disappointedly, “I show you an ounce of mercy, and you think you can use my name so casually, simply command me to do your bidding?”  
He leaned in, his whispered voice like a razor, “In this room, there is only one god; and he demands respect.”  
She gulped, “I’m sorry, Father Langdon.”  
“Oh no, you’ve lost that privilege,” he moved his hand to grip the nape of her neck, “You may call me sir, until I decide you you’ve been good enough. Is that clear?”  
There was no hesitation, “Yes, sir.”  
He hummed, “Now, I’m a merciful god, my little saint,” he applied a tighter pressure, “but you’ll have to pay due penance if you want me to bury this thick cock in your cunt and save you from your greediness.”  
Her cold terror was melted with warm lust still coating his bulge.  
“Get on the bed and face the left.”  
He dropped her to her feet and watched her crawl onto the mattress, sitting perfectly still on her knees.  
He brought over one of the red cords, “Hold out your wrists.”  
She obeyed silently, and he tied her to the pike, not too tightly, but enough to remind her she was at his mercy. He walked back around to the other side, taking his sweet time; making her wait, her humiliation exposed to Heaven and his eyes alone. She felt like she should be ashamed, insulted at how he debased her.  
But it only made the need in her pussy throb harder.  
The palm of his hand connected with her skin, the sting making her cry out in surprise as she tried to bite back a delighted smile.  
“Stick out that perfect ass.”  
She leaned over a little farther, presenting before him. She could feel the mattress buckle beneath her as he climbed up behind her, pulling her thighs closer and spread her legs, one hand firmly on her ass, and the other stretched underneath to cup her breast. She barely had time to react to his warm palm on her skin before he dragged tongue up the full length of her opening. She gasped, gripping at the cord. He lavished every inch of her needy, saturate flesh with long, deep stripes; devouring her viciously, her cries of pleasure riling him up. She heard the rustling of fabric as he slipped off his pants, fully freeing himself. She sighed as he rubbed his pulsing head up and down her slit, bathing it in her cum.  
“You taste delicious, my little lamb,” he slid his body over her, his chest against her back; she barely restrained herself from bucking against his hard cock pressed between her cheeks.  
“Are you sorry for taking my name in vain?” He nuzzled next to her ear.  
“Yes, sir,” she breathed.  
“Do you feel that hard dick?” He thrusted slightly, patting her cheeks further, “Do you want to feel like a really dirty whore?”  
She felt like she would collapse, “Yes, sir.”  
His smile brushed against her neck, “Would you like it if I put my cock in your perfect ass?”  
Her mind reeled. It was filthy, wrong, sinful-  
“Yes, sir, please do that.”  
He kissed her shoulder, “Say it, Mallory, we’re well past guarded language.”  
She almost screamed, begging him, “Please, sir, put your fucking cock in my ass.”  
He seemed to genuinely pause, taking in her words, before laughing, “Ask and ye shall receive.”  
He kissed down her spine, sitting up on his knees and positioning his cock right over her, taking fingers full of her juices and slathering them into her asshole, gently massaging it open. She braced herself against the pike, already aching at the touch. She felt his soaked head stretching her out; she groaned, a slight burning sensation quickly replaced by delicious agony as he gently worked himself in, telling her how tight and perfect she was. He was built up a slow, steady rhythm, which she took notice of with a pang of endearment. He wrapped his arm around her waist, using his other hand to caress her hair, “You're being such a good girl,” he hummed, “such a good, filthy girl.”  
He pulled out slowly, her body feeling empty, less grounded to reality as he did. She felt the bed shift again as he stood to retrieve the two other ties. When he was in front of her, she looked up at him under innocent, submissive eyes, her lips red and swollen from her biting them so hard.  
He smiled, tucking messy, sweat-soaked hair behind her ear, “Come up here.”  
She furrowed her brows, but lifted herself up to meet him. He pulled her close, breathing out, “You earned this.”  
He brought their lips together, oddly chaste; simply delighting in her kiss, the feel of their mouths meeting in a covenant of longing. He released the kiss, rubbing her cheek with his thumb, “Are you ready to cum?”  
She nodded, “Yes, sir.”  
“Michael,” he corrected, “I want you to be able to scream my name.”  
He untied her hands, “Lay on your back for me and stretch out your arms.”  
Once she had, he tied both wrists; one to each pike, and her ankles together flat against the bed so she was in the position of a crucifix. He straddled her, running his hands all over her body, “My beautiful, spotless lamb.”  
He parted her thighs once more, indulging in the way her tied legs kept her tightly around him as he entered her. It wasn’t long before he decided to forego the gentleness and began pounding into her against the bed, much to her relief. His cock slipped in and out at a frantic pace, the sound of their hips crashing together, wetness dripping between them, their skin slick with sweat and arousal. She was whining pathetically, wishing she could dig her nails into his back with each thrust hitting the exact perfect spot. He pulled her hair back to expose her neck, biting hard enough to puncture the skin. She cried out his name, like honey on her tongue, her breath catching in her throat, as she drenched his thick length. He lapped up the droplets of blood and around the forming bruise, moaning into the open wounds as her fluids soaked his mouth and cock. He hooked his arms under her legs as she fell back, gasping from her pleasure.  
“Look at me,” he snarled pounding harder, even faster strokes.  
She met his gaze, her eyes glassy and inundated with pleasure while his burned with dark lust. his chest and throat rumbled with deep, gravelly growls as he came. He roared like an animal, baring his teeth and sinking them into her neck once more. She squealed at the flash of pain, but welcomed his warm wet tongue soothing the abused skin. They moved their hips in tandem, slowly now, their slick heat mixing, each movement massaging it further into them.  
He took two fingers and gathered their cum, holding it front of her.  
“Open your mouth.”  
She obeyed and he spread his messy fingers over her tongue.  
“Hoc est enim corpus meum, this is my body,” he whispered before placing it on his own tongue and taking her in a passionate kiss.  
He pulled out, chest heaving deep breaths as he untied her. Her arms immediately wrapped around him, leaving reverent kisses on his skin; he did nothing to admonish her eager affection. They lay there exhausted, wordless. He finally gazed into her eyes, kissing her forehead.  
“I was right. You did feel like Heaven.”


End file.
